Third Time's the Charm
by Kazo Sakamari
Summary: "And now they weren't just hurt or damaged. They were broken, broken in ways that couldn't be fixed, no matter how hard he tried." Sirius visits Bellatrix for the last time and tries to come to terms with how his life had turned out. Very AU, not the greatest summary, but it's better to just read it.


**It may be a good idea to actually read this before you read the story!**

So this is a very AU story, I'm not really sure how it came about, but I wrote it and this is how it turned out. It wasn't originally a Harry Potter fic, but I though I could make it fit Sirius and Bellatrix so I changed a few things around and here it is.

This takes place when the war had already ended, don't ask me how, I didn't think that part up. But Bellatrix has been captured and placed in St. Mungo's insanity ward. Both James and Sirius have survived the war, and if anyone notices James and Sirius have been living together after Hogwarts, which means James and Lily aren't together in this universe.

Sirius is visiting Bellatrix because she's some of the last family he has left, and the similarities between the two are great, which I think makes it possible for them to have a connection that Sirius may have lacked with his other friends and family.

Please read and review, and if you have any questions about the story feel free to ask!

Disclaimer: J.K. Rowling owns Harry Potter.

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Third Time's the Charm

He was worried. Despite all the assurances and the soft calming voice telling him that _every measure had been taken, all precautions are in place. Nothing can happen and nothing will happen. Everything will be alright._ All those goddamn voices. All those goddamn lies. And they are lies. He knows they are lies because he had once been the soft, calming voice telling them. Telling those fucking lies.

And nothing had been alright then, so why should it be now? Because he knew, just like everybody says, just like she used to say.

"Third time's the charm." He says it aloud, rolling it around in his mouth, tasting it.

"Third time's the charm." He says it again, aiming for her, for that sweet and sour sound, that gruff texture, that sugary smile. He doesn't manage it. He came close, but he just doesn't have enough of her in him to make it work. He could never make it work.

He turns down a new hallway, the walls slowly changing from cheerful neutral colors of gold and tan to a paler rundown version. Old sun bleached wall paper and scratched wooden floors with cracked molding here and there. This was the forgotten part of the building, the ignored part. The part where no one ventures unless they belong .

He thinks that says something about himself. That he keeps coming here. Again and again. That maybe he belongs here too? Of course it's not phrased as a question in his mind, because he already knows the answer. He does belong here.

Just like her. But by some stroke of luck no one can see it yet. The key word being _yet_.

He supposes someday he'll crack, he has always known he would. To be honest he's surprised he's lasted this long.

A wave of nausea overcomes him as he draws closer to her ward. He is sick with worry, literally. And he hates it. He hates it so much. Because it never should have been like this, it never should have turned out like this. But there really wasn't any other way it could have turned out.

And he hates that. He hates all of it.

He stops in front of her door and suddenly all of his courage leaves him.

And he just can't bring himself to turn that damned doorknob.

Because like everyone says, just like she used to say…

"Third time's the charm."

Those goddamn voices, telling him that everything would be okay. Nothing ever turned out okay. Ever. She had tried twice already. _Twice._

This was it, this was the third time, after this it was all over anyways. There were no more chances after this.

She had tried twice already to take her own life, only failing because of some fluke with the bed frame and the fact that the healer had been taking a coffee break. She couldn't fail again. She _wouldn't _fail again.

After all third time's the charm.

He dropped his wand into the box next to the door, magic wasn't allowed in the ward. It was another one of those stupid precautions. Those ones that never worked.

Because when had she ever needed magic to achieve her means?

Never, it just made the job so much simpler. Easier.

His hand brushed the cold metal of the doorknob and he flinched.

Taking a step back he sank to the floor and dropped his head into his hands.

When had everything gone wrong? When had everything become so bloody fucked up?

It seemed like only yesterday that she was there with him, playing in her big backyard.

"_No Siri. You're doing it wrong. You have to stab and then twist." She spoke in a rather condescending tone to the younger boy._

"_Here, watch me again." And he did, he plopped right down onto the dewy grass and watched as she brushed her thick black curls out of her eyes and brandished her wand, making the dandelion she was holding change from yellow to a brilliant shade of blue. He giggled when she ticked him with her now blue dandelion and smiled up at her._

"_Come on Sirius, it's your turn now. You're sure to get it this time, remember? Third time's the charm!" She said brightly watching as he drew his uncle's stolen wand from his pocket and bit his lip for a second before pointing his wand at the dandelion, changing it to a dark pink._

"_I did it!" He cried, waving the flower widely in the air. The girl just laughed and picked him up in her arms._

"_I knew you would Sirius. Always remember, third time's the charm. Come on, maybe Cissy will make you some chocolate milk, how about that?" _

_The little boy nodded happily, still clutching the pink flower to his chest only pausing a moment beckoning the older girl to him. Carefully, he tucked the flower in her hair and nodded, content with his work._

"_It's pretty, like you." _

A dry sob racked his body and he shivered. Why couldn't things be simple again? Why could things be happy again?

But he already knew the answer to all his questions. Things couldn't be simple again because they were adults now. Not children. They were adults and the world would never be as simple as it had been when he was six years old. And they couldn't be happy again because they had never truly been happy to begin with, they had been hurt and damaged, and growing up in this fucked up world had only made things worse.

And now they weren't just hurt or damaged. They were broken, broken in ways that couldn't be fixed, no matter how hard he tried.

He could feel tears prickling at the edges of his eyes.

They were broken, both of them. Because he wouldn't be here if they weren't.

And everything's fucking broken, and everything's fucking bad. Because she was right, goddamn it she was always right. Third time's the charm. Third time's _always_ the charm.

And he can smell the rotting corpse from here, and he knows that it's all over, really over.

Because so what if the war ended months ago, it hadn't been over for him, it hadn't been over for her.

She had been brilliant, beautiful in war.

In some ways that war had saved them, prolonged their descent into madness. It gave them a release, something to live for, something to die for.

She had never been more beautiful than in the thick of battle, laughing madly as she danced. She had been fierce, and fiery. People had feared her, revered her.

Just like they had him.

Because they were born to fight. Born to die, born to be remembered after death, not born to live life.

And he had never felt more alive than he had playing their game, curses flying wildly around him, blood flowing over his broken skin, as he chased her across the battlefield fighting for dominance in a child's game that they pretended wasn't war.

They attacked each as if their lives depended on it, they aimed to hurt, to main, to kill. They had wanted each other dead, because they knew without this, without each other they were done for. Doomed to a life not worth living.

The war, that blasted screwed up war that took innocent lives and shed the blood of far too many had been their saving grace. But it never could have lasted, they were too good, too well matched. They would have outlived the war, if not each other. And once the war was done, all they had left were the shells of themselves that they lived in.

He suddenly leaped up, twisting the doorknob and nearly falling into the room.

She was lying face down on the floor, thick black hair splayed around her head like a halo. The smell was worse in the room and he coughed for a second but made no move to cover his face. He had seen many dead bodies before, he knew he would get used to the smell after a moment.

Kneeling carefully next to her, he rolled her over with more force than was necessary. Glassy gray eyes stared up at him and it was only now, seeing her face like this, seeing her lifeless eyes that the tears began to fall.

He tried to be surprised, shocked, alarmed at her death but he couldn't. He had known she was going to die, ever since her failed attempt last time. The second time.

He tried instead for anger, or sadness and found that neither of those came any easier. It had been obvious since the war ended that she was to go first, without him. And he honestly couldn't blame her, how could he ever blame her?

Gently he closed her eyelids and settled down Indian style next to her, grasping her cold hand. Closing his eyes for a moment, he tried desperately to pretend, to remember those long ago time's.

He wasn't sure how long it took for the healers to arrive, but it must have been awhile for his limbs ached from lack of movement when he stood and he had to peel his hand away from hers.

He watched them cover her with a sheet before turning to leave. A small crowd of staff had gathered outside her room, eager to see what had occurred. They parted for him like the red sea, whispers and suspicious glares following his back.

_They say he's insane, killed more people in the war than He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, not an ounce of regret. I heard he was a traitor, a spy for the dark side, I'm amazed they haven't thrown him in Azkaban yet. No one who comes around here could be any good. He's unhinged, you can see it in his eyes. He's been visiting _her,_ he must still have some ties to the dark right? He's just filth like the rest of them, no one cares who he befriends, Blacks will always be Blacks._

When the doors to the ward finally swung closed he stopped walking and took a deep, shaky breath.

With a soft pop he disapparated, reappearing outside of a small muggle looking apartment building.

Carefully glancing around, he strode forward and knocked gently on the door of Apartment 21. A messy haired man in glasses opened the door and let him in without a word.

"Tea?"

"Yes please, you know how I like it."

"After nine years of living with you I'd be amazed if I didn't."

The messy haired man paused then, looking over his companion carefully.

"She's dead Prongs."

"I know."

"Why?" His voiced cracked with the emotions he was trying desperately to conceal. It was an odd question, because anyone who knew her could have told you why.

But that wasn't what the man was asking, and they both knew that. He was asking why they had ended up like this, why everything had gone to hell, why they couldn't be normal, why they couldn't just be happy. He was asking _why._

"Third time's the charm." James answered solemnly as he set a steaming cup of tea in front of his friend. He ran a hand through his already rumpled hair as he stood there, looking down at his broken friend, his brother.

"I'm sorry Sirius."

"I know."

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Well? What did you think? Please please review...I never seem to get that many and they do mean a lot to me. I would really love it if you did, even just a short note...

_Please?_


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